


I had hoped

by quakingaspen



Category: The Prince of Egypt (1998)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-30
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quakingaspen/pseuds/quakingaspen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramses just wants everything to go back to the way it was before. Moses may be too far gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I had hoped

He was sitting in his usual hide-away, staring into a cup of wine, when he heard footsteps approach. They were hesitant, soft sandals on flagstones sporadically interrupted by the striking of a staff. He knew it must be him – after all these years, Moses was still the only one who dared seek him out when he wished to be alone. 

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard Moses call out to him. He thought of ignoring him, but the thought came and went without much consideration, for he had gone too long without speaking to Moses, and despite all of the havoc that he had wreaked, Ramses reached out to him. 

Still, his heart was full of resentment as he drawled out a response. “Oh. Let me guess. You want me to…” he pitched his voice to mimic Moses’ dramatic command, “let your people go.” He drained the cup of wine he had been holding. 

“I… hoped I would find you here,” was all that Moses replied. 

“Get out!” Ramses hated that voice, this new, gentle Prophet Moses voice that spoke with patience and compassion instead of the playful arrogance of their youth. He threw his cup in the Moses’ general direction, not caring if it hit him. 

“Ramses,” Moses sighed. “We must bring this to an end.” Ramses ignored him, embarrassed by his outburst but too proud, always too proud, to right the wrong. 

“Ramses, please, talk to me,” Moses begged. “We could always talk here.” Still, Ramses said nothing. He heard Moses sigh heavily, and offer with forced casualness, “This place… So many memories…”

Ramses heard what Moses did not say – this was their place, their special hide-away, where they had spent hours upon hours together doing much more than talking. He knew that they were both remembering those times, and he hated that Moses could stand here now and bring him only pain in a place where they had once shared such joy.

Moses was speaking again, rambling about a random memory in a desperate effort to fill the silence, but when Ramses remained quiet and Moses turned to leave, Ramses panicked. He didn’t know what to say, only that he would say anything at this moment to keep Moses here with him. He responded the only way he knew how, a knee-jerk reaction from their childhood. “If I recall correctly,” he began to argue, “You were there switching heads right along with me.” He was relieved when Moses turned back to him, and he continued with this inane argument for the sake of a few more precious moments, coming down from his perch as he did. 

He stood face-to-face with Moses for the first time since his return, and was struck again by the changes in his appearance that made him almost unrecognizable. He turned away, overwhelmed, but could not go far. He never had been able to walk away from Moses. It pained him that much more knowing that the same was not true for Moses, that he had walked away from him, away to the desert, away to his death, away to this god that had formed this irreparable chasm between them. 

“You were always there to…get me out of trouble again.” He spoke with a tenderness he thought he had lost when Moses had left him, fiddling with the ring that Moses had so cruelly returned. When he saw the corner of Moses’ mouth turn up tentatively, he reached out, desperate to salvage what he knew was already gone. 

“Why can’t things be the way they were before?” He placed his hand on Moses’ shoulder, pulling him closer. He could feel Moses’ initial hesitation, but it was gone in a moment. Moses lifted his hand to cover the one that Ramses had placed on him.

“Ramses, I… I wish they could be, but…” Moses looked down, shaking his head, but when he looked back into Ramses eyes, his expression had changed. Gone was the shyness that had sprung up between them, replaced by a fervor made Ramses skin tingle. This was the Moses he remembered. This was the Moses that plagued his dreams and nightmares, more dreadful and beautiful than any of the terrors his god could unleash upon them. 

“Moses –” he breathed, but his words were cut off as Moses’ lips met his in a kiss that made his head light and his skin burn with fire and need. His hands moved from Moses’ shoulder to wrap around the back of his neck, entwining his fingers in Moses’ new curls and holding his head tightly as his lips pressed hungrily against his. Ramses stepped forward, forcing Moses back against the sculpted alabaster, pressing the length of his body against him. Newly calloused hands that spoke of hard labor reminded Ramses of where Moses had been all these years, but he could not bring himself to care as they roamed over his body, touching every inch of exposed skin they could find. 

Ramses pulled back only far enough to see his own need reflected in Moses’ eyes, before kissing him again. He drew Moses’ body away from the stone to strip him of his outer robe before slamming his body back into the statue, grinding his erection into Moses’ hip. Moses whimpered, and Ramses grasped at the coarse cloth between their skin, lifting Moses’ robe to expose his hardened length. Moses bit back a moan as Ramses stroked him roughly. How many times had they done this before? It had been so long, but the muscle memory lingered, and they both knew what came next.

“Who am I?” Ramses whispered into Moses’ ear, savoring the way Moses’ body shuddered under his touch. 

“Pharaoh,” Moses choked out between moans. Their back-and-forth had been established long ago, long before their father had died and Ramses had assumed the throne, but it only served to make the fire under Ramses skin burn hotter now that it was true. 

“Who am I?” Ramses asked again, yanking on Moses’ curls to run his lips over the exposed skin of Moses’ throat. 

“Pharaoh!” Moses gasped, and their bodies sank to the cold floor, where Moses’ staff lay abandoned. Moses’ shoulders hit the stones as Ramses straddled him, pulling his own shenti up to prepare himself. He still had not released Moses, who writhed on the floor beneath him. Ramses let him go, only to move his hand to Moses’ entrance, his soft fingers probing roughly, his own cock hardening painfully at the sound of Moses’ desperate moans echoing off the alabaster stones. 

“WHO AM I?!” he yelled, preparing himself to take Moses like he had so often before. 

“You are…the morning…and…and the evening…” Moses was panting heavily, eyes screwed shut, back arched, muscles clenched, his words breathy and barely audible.  
“Say it! SAY IT!” Ramses demanded. Moses’ eyes snapped open, and for the first time in his life, Ramses felt afraid of his brother. 

“NO!” Moses roared. He sat up suddenly, and before Ramses could comprehend what had happened, Moses had flipped them so that Ramses’ face and chest were now being pressed firmly against the cold stone, Moses’ weight above him. He could feel Moses’ hands pull up his shenti, and he gasped sharply as cold fingers penetrated him. 

“Moses!” he began, but his resolve melted as he remembered his brother’s expression only moments before. It was not flames of desire he saw in his eyes, but the cold spark of fanaticism that had haunted his dreams ever since Moses had first uttered his god’s command. He was afraid, but the fear only fed his arousal, and he did not try to turn around. Even if Moses’ body had not been pinning him to the floor, the sensation of Moses’ fingers inside him was enough to keep him rooted firmly to the spot. 

He felt a hollow loss when Moses pulled his fingers out, but before he could protest Moses had pressed the tip of his cock, wet with pre-come, against his entrance. Ramses sucked in a sharp breath.

“And the Lord said unto me,” Moses intoned, and before Ramses could question the words, Moses pushed into him, crying out, “‘I have made thee a god to Pharaoh!’” Ramses had cried out as well, but not loud enough to drown out the words that Moses now uttered above him. “And I shall speak all that He commands me…” he spoke, punctuating words that were not his own with hard thrusts that left Ramses quivering in pain and desire. “…and the Egyptians shall know that he is the Lord, when he stretches forth his hand upon Egypt…” His thrusts sped up, erratic as he frantically neared climax, shouting, “…and bring out the Hebrews from among them, and Pharaoh will hearken unto His word!”   
With a final thrust, he slumped forward over Ramses’ body, spent, his chest heaving. Ramses, too, had climaxed at some point, but he had been too consumed by Moses’ frightening righteousness to pay much heed to his own body. Now, he felt tired, sore, and overwhelmed as the magnitude of what had just occurred washed over him. 

Moses lifted himself up without a word, only a small hiss as he withdrew from Ramses’ body, and Ramses could hear him straightening out his robes. He did not raise his head when he heard the staff strike the stone. “But He will harden Pharaoh’s heart, that he shall not let the people go. Thus saith the Lord, that if you refuse to let them go, behold, He will…slay…” Moses trailed off, his Prophet voice finally returning to the brother he loved and hated. “Goodbye, my brother,” he whispered, and when Ramses made no indication of moving or responding, Moses turned and walked away. 

Ramses lay still until the sound of his brother’s footsteps had disappeared, silent tears sliding down his cheeks to pool on the stones below him. The pain and betrayal within him were morphing into a raw hatred as images of the suffering that had been caused by Moses’ hand broke through the memories of days long passed that Ramses had been clinging to. When he eventually pushed himself off the ground and lifted his head, his gaze was drawn to the great image before him: that of his father commanding that the children of the slaves be thrown to the beasts. The image could just as easily be of his own face. He was Pharaoh now, and he could do as he pleased. He was not going to let any god, especially one for slaves, stop him. He knew what he had to do.


End file.
